It’s been done a thousand times, and it’ll probably be done a few thousand times more.
This is a love story about pizza. And yes, it has a happy ending.
Why? You might ask.
Because pizza is awesome. Pizza is timeless. It’s a quick, efficient, relatively cheap meal that seems to always hit the spot. Pizzas are a staple. There are a million variations, a thousand flavours, hundreds of toppings, and many that claim to serve the best version of it.
Are you in a rush, on the move with no time to cook yourself a healthy meal? Grab a slice and be on your way.
Are you half-drunk, half-horny, lonely, and sad that you didn’t get laid tonight? Grab a slice to ease the pain a little.
Are you desperately hungover from another night of blackout drinking and bad decisions? Pull out that old flip phone and dial in at the nearest neighbourhood pizza place for a good old fashioned extra-large with way too many toppings and a tomato sauce that has gone cold on the ride over to your place. Simply delicious.
When nobody else is there for you, a pizza will be. This isn’t debatable. Pizza is the world’s best food.
But let’s get one thing straight. Even the mention of the word Domino’s, Pizza Hut, Papa John’s or Little Caesars and you get a brick through your window. I am no pizza snob, but have some class will ya?
And the second thing. Contradictory to what you might think, I am not looking for the most authentic slice. You purists, whining about “oh that isn’t pizza, because blah, blah, blah?” Nobody wants to hear it. If it tastes good, calls itself a pizza, has the necessary ingredients, I’m trying it, and I’m calling it a pizza.
Pizza is simply too good to be just limited to one style. As far as I’m concerned, the more the merrier because the consumers (us) win when there’s more choice. Isn’t that right, Adam Smith?
On a semi-serious note, I would be doing myself and the world a great disservice if I didn’t allow myself to try all of it: Sicilian, Neapolitan; fancy, cheap, Detroit-style, thin, thick, round, Chicago deep-dish, square, bold, light, sturdy, heavy, flavourful, simple.
And I did. And in that journey to the centre of the Earth, fighting dragons, conquering kingdoms, and saving princesses from tiny windows etched on tall towers, I found the best one: a tiny, hole in the wall, fluorescently lit pizza joint called City Square Pizza.
Cue the horror. After all that, you arrive at a square pizza. And call it the best? Blasphemy.
Well the truth hurts sometimes, and as much as you might want to debate this with me, you shouldn’t bother. City Square Pizza has by far the best pizza in Vancouver. This is an indisputable fact that is going to feel like a knife in the ribs to all pizza purists out there. And I love it.
How can a square shaped, Detroit-style pizza be the best pizza in all of the city? Is it even a pizza? It’s more like a focaccia marauding as it’s more famous cousin. It’s a glorified, inside out calzone, is what it is. Call that a pizza? Bah, you got no honour. You should be ashamed of yourself, you rat bastard.
Got that out of your system?
Good.
If you can (and in this case, you should) take off any biased hats you might have on and try a goddamn slice, I have no doubt that you will concur.
A good pizza as any pizza chef will tell you is built on good dough. When one creates said dough, one must be sure that the proportions are precise. If one fucks up the proprtions, one fucks up the dough, which results in a bad batch, a mediocre pizza, and an unhappy customer.
Whether it’s through sheer repetitive action – practice if you will – or through voodoo black magic, the folks at City Square have created the kind of dough that should be studied in culinary schools.
There is something magical and airy about the bread at City Square. There’s nothing more satisfying that a big, loud, strong crunch and the crust here will never disappoint. And while it might look intimidating in size and feel heavy, the slices are light enough that you can tear into it, but strong enough that it holds everything together well so you're not losing half the toppings on your walk.
It’s a Detroit slice, with a New York feel. It’s simply perfect.
Often, pizzas on window behind a glass screen look thoroughly unappetizing. They look dry like paper, dejected and lonely. The slices here at City Square look good and taste even better, which is no mean feat. They are fat, and crisp, drowning in fresh, juicy marinara sauce that you can tell hasn’t been yanked out of a bottle. The slice is littered with one or two toppings – the classic pepperoni, some Italian sausage, Gabagool (that’s Capicola for you Sopranos-illiterates), chicken, mixed in with some veggies and overloaded with cheese. There are also vegan and vegetarian options, but come on, just indulge in some bad behaviour for a change and order the slice with the meat on it.
Perched on Davie Street, City Square Pizza is unassuming. If you walk by it on any ordinary day, you probably wouldn’t think twice about stepping in. You might even miss it if you didn’t know it existed. But like most grab-on-the-go pizza places, City Square shines at night. For one thing, it’s unnecessarily well lit. Like one of those giant office buildings with bright white light shining halfway into the street. And when the sun goes down and the warm streetlights come on, the lights of City Square stand out and force you to take notice.
And people do. Regulars don't think twice – if they’re hungry and happen to be walking by, they step in for a quick slice and move on with their evening. It’s always the first timers who are gripped by indecision that stand first gawking and drooling outside the window as they admire the neatly placed, diverse, delicious slices. Then the internal monologue.
“Should I? They look so darn good.”
“No, I can’t. That would throw me off my diet. Summer’s round the corner.”
“I have to stay strong.”
“Ah, screw it, what’s one tiny little slice going to do?”
Once they have navigated the unnecessary internal dialogue with themselves, they make their way in and spend an eternity deciding which slice to choose. And who can blame them?
I can.
City Square is a pizza place that requires urgency. It’s a tiny, narrow-walled, three stooled pitstop with hospital lighting, and a tilted fridge that is usually half empty. Exactly what a pizza place should be. It’s a spot to pick up a slice and a soda and be on your way, eating it messily as you get to your next destination. Or if you choose to sit inside, it’s because it’s your lunch break, or you’re desperately hungover, no reason to judge the surroundings. Just enjoy the delicious, fat slices.
This must feel like an anomaly seeing as we’re in chilled out, laid back Vancouver, but the joint harkens to those $1 slice places in New York, or the corner shops in Chicago and other middle American industrial cities. Even if they don’t say it to your face, the staff don't want to give you their recommendations.
It’s a frigging slice of pizza, not a dangerous chemical. Just choose your favourite flavour and get out of the way. There’s queue behind your oblivious arse, and the folks standing there are getting impatient at your complete lack of self-awareness. Don’t be a picky eater. Trust that whatever you choose will at the very least be satisfactory. And then proceed to have your mind blown.
So, while City Square Pizza might not look like all that, like most hearty, wholesome, beaten down diners, it is this very fact that makes the meal here even more special. If you’ve been on your feet all day, running around doing work and find yourself on Davie. Step into City Square, grab a slice and root beer and enjoy that rush of flavour hit you as you stare at the wall in front of you and hallucinate angels falling from the sky.